Windows to the Soul
by wanderingwidget
Summary: Third installment in my Soul Series. Jack's back, or is he? All is not well, and everyone is dealing differently, including our beloved Colonel. UPDATED: spelling errors should be fixed.


Windows to the Soul  
  
Summary: the third installment of my series, Jack's in the mental hospital, and all is not well.  
  
Sequel: Reflections of the Soul, Shattered Souls  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never have been. Wish they were, but they ain't. Boo-hoo.  
  
Author's Note: read the first two first. Reflections, then Shattered, then Windows. Or not, it's your mind that's gonna get boggled. I've done the best I can. Happy reading, campers!  
One:  
  
"Where the hell is he!" Sara demanded as she stormed into the hospital. The guard was trying to explain, but she kept cutting him off. "I don't care. I am here to see Col. Jack O'Neill, and I am not leaving until I do! Now," she calmed down a bit and lowered her voice. "Will you please take me to him."  
  
The guard, flustered, called up to Dr. Mackenzie's office on the secretary's phone. "You might as well let her up," the doctor informed him. "It's not like he'll do anything. Besides, Jackson is up there with him, I'd prefer to let him explain."  
  
"Yes sir," the guard replied with a nod the doctor couldn't see.  
  
"Damn Jackson, he probably knows more than I do," the doctor muttered before hanging up. The guard didn't think he was meant to hear that, so he kept his mouth shut and handed the phone back to the secretary.  
  
Anyways, the doctor was probably right. Jackson had been in every day for the past month, with the exception of a three day period during which he'd said he had some 'other business to take care of.' The archaeologist had basically set up shop in O'Neill's room, and showed absolutely no intention of leaving. The man had to know something, to keep coming back day after day like this. Even the other two, the blonde major and the big black guy, only visited once a week. It was like Jackson knew something, was waiting for something. Either that, or he was one hell of a friend. Either way, the guard thought that O'Neill was a lucky man, for a catatonic. Friends like that were hard to come by.  
  
"This way, ma'am," the guard said, motioning for the woman to follow him to the row of elevators. The catatonic ward was on the third floor, along with several of the doctor's offices. It was convenient that way, because the catatonics rarely caused any sort of disruption at all. They stepped in and waited silently as the metal box made its ascent. The woman was tapping her foot impatiently, arms crossed over her chest. Personally, the guard was glad that it was Jackson, and not him, who had to deal with her. He got the feeling that it would be a messy scene, to say the least.  
  
* * *  
  
Daniel was muttering aloud, trying to figure out the meaning of the same passage he'd been working on all day. Jack longed to help him, he'd figured it out after about three hours of listening to him mutter it, but he couldn't. Not yet. Not yet. In the back of his head, the Other shook his head. He was annoyed, but he wasn't forcing anything, so that was okay. Jack continued staring out the window and listening to Daniel talk to himself.  
  
It had become routine. Daniel would arrive at around eight in the morning, every morning, coffee and papers in hand. He would spend about half an hour talking to him, keeping him up to date on the topics of interest back at the SGC, then he'd get to work, trying to explain this cultural phenomenon, or translate that bit of rock. Okay, artifact.  
  
The only change in the routine, since a month ago when he'd been rolled into the hospital, had been a three day period during which Daniel hadn't come in. Jack had been worried. After the third day he'd contemplated asking one of the nurses to find out what had happened to his friend, but on the fourth day Daniel had walked in, coffee and papers in hand.  
  
"I'm sorry I wasn't here the last couple of days," the archaeologist had apologized. "But the Tok'ra showed up. They needed some help with an artifact they'd discovered in an ancient abandoned goa'uld stronghold. They'd thought it might be some sort of super weapon. It'd ended up being a recording device. A very big recording device. Apparently, the goa'uld who'd built it, Shankal, used it to download information out of the mind. He'd had it filled to capacity. Chock full of about a billion minds." He'd chatted for longer than usual that day, apologizing several times, and then got to work.  
  
"Sa-kolo-nabe-ki," Daniel muttered, over and over again. That little sentence was giving him hell, he couldn't figure out if it meant 'Beware the Lioness,' as some sort of reference to Hathor, the goa'uld; or 'Caution: large predators.' It was the second one, Daniel would figure it out, eventually. He was really good at the language thing.  
  
Daniel was about ready to give up on the damned passage, it was driving him nuts, when two people appeared in the open doorway. The first was a guard, the same guard he'd passed every day as he'd come to visit. The second was Sara. Shit. She looked pissed. Double shit.  
  
"Sara, hi. We, uh, weren't expecting you," Daniel greeted her, standing up from the chair at the desk. The woman ignored him, walking past him and to the wheelchair, where Jack was sitting watching the window. The guard looked at him questioningly, but it was obvious that the man didn't want to be there, so Daniel waved him away.  
  
Sara stopped just short of the wheelchair, then turned and faced him. Yup. Definitely pissed. "Two months ago you call me and ask if I know where Jack is. A month ago you call me and tell me you've found him. You don't call back. He doesn't call. I find out he's in a mental hospital from some military secretary who informs me that, no, my husband isn't on the base, he's currently in a rubber room!"  
  
Daniel held his hands up, part in surrender and part to ward off her blows. He was just getting ready to reply, but was saved the trouble. "Sara, sweetheart, I'm not your husband anymore. As for them calling you back, they had no reason to, seeing as I'm not your husband anymore."  
  
Daniel stared at the wheelchair where Jack was sitting. Sara took a step towards him, but he turned the chair before she could get any farther, facing them. Daniel felt his spark of hope go out, it wasn't Jack. Sara didn't seem to realize that, though. "Jack, what the hell is going on!" the woman demanded, hands on hips. The Other smiled.  
  
"Nothing, I'm just getting a little rest and therapy."  
  
"Jack-"  
  
He lifted a hand and cut her off. "I'm fine, really. And it's really none of your business. As I recall, it was you who decided to get divorced."  
  
"Jack-"  
  
"Look, Sara, I loved you. Who knows, maybe I still love you. But, you're not a part of my life anymore. And the only one you have to blame for that is you," the Other cut her off yet again. Sara dropped her hands, looked at Daniel, then back at Jack.  
  
"I just, I was worried," she finally managed to say.  
  
The Other smiled again. "Don't be, I'm fine."  
  
"You're in a wheelchair," she pointed out.  
  
He shrugged. "Preference." They remained silent for several minutes. "Good-bye, Sara," the Other finally said. The woman nodded.  
  
"Good-bye, Jack," she replied. She nodded good-bye to Daniel, then exited the room.  
  
Daniel turned to look at the Other. "You stay away for a month, and you decide to come out to calm your ex-wife's hysterics?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. The Other shrugged.  
  
"I was bored. Besides, I couldn't let her chew you up, you didn't do anything wrong."  
  
"Why did you want her to think you were 'fine' ?" Daniel asked, the Other shrugged yet again.  
  
"Probably because having her around sends Jack into hysterics," he answered.  
  
"My god," someone said from the doorway. Both Daniel and the Other turned to see who it was. It was Mackinsey.  
  
"Hiya, doc," the Other said with a smile and a wave.  
  
"What the hell is going on here?!" the shrink demanded, but not of the Other, he'd turned to face Daniel.  
  
Daniel shrugged. "I don't know. Sara barged in and started yelling at me, then he jumped in."  
  
The Doctor turned to face the Other. "Do you know where you are?" he asked, moving forward and pulling out a pen light.  
  
"Hill View Military Psycho-analysis Institute," the Other answered as the Doctor shone a light in his eyes. "And, I gotta tell you doc, that is a horrible name."  
  
"Why do you say that, Jack?" the doctor asked distractedly, shining the light in the other eye.  
  
"I've been here for a month, and there's not a hill in view," the Other informed him. He was watching Daniel, who was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, watching him through his glasses.  
  
The Doctor chuckled, slightly, then straightened. "Can you raise your arm?" he asked. The Other complied, raising both arms. "How about your legs?" The Other frowned, then managed to lift first one, then the other, a couple of inches. "That's okay, you're going to need a bit a physical therapy, you haven't really used your muscles in a little over a month.  
  
"I'm aware of that, Doc," the Other replied dryly. Daniel smiled, just a little.  
  
"Well, Jack, would you like me to call Major Carter and Teal'c? I'm sure they'd like to come see you," Mackinsey asked, taking a step back. The Other shrugged.  
  
"Do what ya want, Doc," he said, then stared over his shoulder at Daniel, making eye contact. The Doctor nodded.  
  
"Okay, then, I'll get ri-" he started. Daniel, staring at the Other's eyes, got a creepy feeling. There was something in those eyes, something he was trying to tell him. The archaeologist figured it out a moment before he spoke, cutting the doctor off mid-sentence.  
  
"But stop calling me 'Jack,' will ya? My name is Jonathan Richard Bellwether, thank you very much," the Other informed the Doctor. Mackinsey managed not to let his jaw hang open, barely. Daniel stayed silent behind the doctor, still watching 'Jonathan.'  
  
"Ahem," Mackinsey said, taking a step back. "Doctor Jackson, may I speak with you for a moment in the hall?" he asked, his voice sounding strained.  
  
Once they were out there, the doctor demanded, in a lowered voice, "Look, I know that you and the rest of SG-1 haven't exactly been totally forthcoming, but will you please explain what just happened in there?!" he demanded. Daniel leaned against the wall and massaged the bridge of his nose.  
  
"I'm pretty sure that you just met Jack's primary alternate," the archaeologist answered after a moment of silence. He'd done a lot of reading over the past month about mpd. The doctor balked for a moment, then looked even angrier.  
  
"Are you telling me that you suspected my patient was suffering from mpd, and you said nothing!" he stressed the 'my patient' and his voice got a little louder.  
  
Daniel closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. "Uh, yeah, that would be correct," he finally answered, eyes still closed.  
  
"How dare you-"  
  
Daniel cut him off. "He was in a catatonic state. I didn't see how telling you would change that. Besides," Daniel glanced back at the room, where he could see Jonathan rotating his neck, "he asked me to keep my mouth shut."  
  
"Would you care to explain that?" the doctor demanded, his voice quiet, once again.  
  
* * *  
  
Daniel and the Other were sitting side by side in the back of the military plane. Teal'c was in Kel-no-reem, having neglected the meditative state in favor of searching for his friends. Sam was asleep in a seat a couple rows up. The Other turned and looked at Daniel.  
  
"Well, now's as good a time as any for a chat," he said. Daniel looked at him sleepily. "I wanna run a couple things by you, Danny-boy, so you don't totally freak out when I do what I'm planning to do."  
  
"Huh?" Daniel asked. "What are you planning to do?" he asked, straightening up and waking up. He was a bit alarmed.  
  
"I believe the method is called 'Shoving the bird out of the nest,'" the Other replied.  
  
"Care to elaborate?" Daniel asked, keeping his voice low so as not to wake their teammates.  
  
The Other smiled. "I'm gonna force Jack out. Hopefully he'll finally deal with his problems, and all will be well by the time we land."  
  
"Hopefully?" Daniel asked. This didn't sound like a very good plan to him.  
  
The Other shrugged. "There is considerable room to screw up, Danny-boy," he replied. "For starters, Jack might not fly," he paused and looked thoughtful. "I'll have to pay attention and make sure that he doesn't go splat."  
  
"What does this have to do with me?" Daniel asked, feeling out of his depth.  
  
"Well, if Jack doesn't fly he'll have to stay in the nest. I just wanted to make sure that you'd be there for him when he finally decides to try again."  
  
"We'll all be there for him," Daniel answered. The Other pinned him with a sardonic look.  
  
"The others are important. He cares about them. I care about them. But you're the only one out of all of them who's seen the differences." Understanding dawned on the archaeologist. "Oh, one more thing," the Other said, pinning him with his eyes. "Please don't tell Mackinsey about me and the others."  
  
"Yeah, okay," Daniel replied.  
  
The Other smiled. "Thanks, Danny-boy, bye-bye." With that, he'd shifted, and Jack had looked out at him from his eyes for a moment. But only for a moment. Almost as soon as he came out, he battened down the hatches, and Daniel watched as his friend retreated back behind his eyes.  
  
"Splat," he said softly, then patted Jack's hand on the armrest.  
  
* * *  
  
"And that's all of it?" Mackinsey demanded after Daniel had finished relaying the story.  
  
"Yeah," the archaeologist lied easily. He wasn't about to inform the doctor about Jay and his addiction, or sexual orientation. At least, not until Jack, or Jonathan, said that it was okay. One strange point about that. Jack hadn't appeared to suffer any effects of withdrawal. Maybe it had something to do with being catatonic. Maybe it had something to do with having several personalities. He didn't know, but he'd kept his mouth shut.  
  
"Welcome back, Doctors," Jonathan greeted them as they walked back into the room. "Enjoy your little chat?" he asked congenially, hands folded in his lap.  
  
"Yes, Jonathan, we did," Mackinsey replied.  
  
"Call me Jon, everyone else does," Jonathan informed him.  
  
"Alright, Jon," Mackinsey said.  
  
"Great," Jon clapped his hands together. "Now, what does a guy gotta do to get some food around here. I'm hungry!"  
  
The doctor went to get a nurse to bring up some food. 'Something easily digested.' Once he was out of the room Jon turned to Daniel with a smirk.  
  
"Danny-boy, that sentence, it means 'Caution: large predators,' by the way," he informed him. Daniel smirked back, and made a notation in the margin of his notebook.  
  
"Thanks," the archaeologist said. Jon shrugged.  
  
"No problem, what're friends for?"  
  
"Your plan went splat, in case you hadn't noticed," Daniel informed him, sitting back down in his chair. Jon treated him with a sardonic look. "What happened?"  
  
"He, panicked, I guess would be the word," Jon replied, then ran a hand through his hair, which had gotten a bit longer. "I don't know, it was just too much for him."  
  
"What was?" Daniel asked.  
  
"Well, for starters, you guys finding out a secret he's been keeping for most of his life," Jon answered.  
  
"And?"  
  
"And, I don't know. He already had problems to deal with that he was ignoring, that's why he ran for the hills, twice," Jon paused, wheeling back and forth in the chair for a moment. Daniel waited. "Overload, I guess," he finally said.  
  
"He tell you all of that?" Daniel asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose again.  
  
"No, hasn't uttered so much as a mental peep for the last month," Jon replied, stopping his pacing. Daniel gave him a look which plainly said 'then how do you know?' "He didn't need to tell me anything," Jon answered the unasked question. "We're sharing rooms in the same skull. When I want to I can feel what he's feeling."  
  
"So, you came out now because, refresh my memory?"  
  
"He started having mental hysterics as soon as the bitch walked into the room," Jon replied matter-of-factly.  
  
"Bitch?"  
  
"Woman abandoned him, left him out to dry, threw him to the crows, etc." Daniel was mildly shocked, Jack had never spoken ill of his ex-wife.  
  
"So you came out because he started to react to something?" Daniel asked. "That seems a bit contrary to your whole purpose, don't you think?" Jon shrugged, then started pacing again.  
  
"I didn't exactly 'come out,' " he mumbled.  
  
"Huh?" Daniel asked.  
  
"I didn't 'come out,'" he repeated. "Jack grabbed me by the ankles and threw me out."  
  
"He can do that?"  
  
"Yeah, of course he can."  
  
"Then why didn't he do that before?"  
  
Jon shrugged. What was there to say? "Because he really did want to be out here. He enjoyed your visits, he enjoyed the view. He just needed a little time to adjust to everything."  
  
Daniel was heartened by this news, it meant that there was hope. "So, now what?" he asked.  
  
"Now we go to Plan B," Jon answered.  
  
"Plan B?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"What's Plan B?"  
  
Jon chuckled. "I believe those books you've been reading call it 'integration,' or something like that."  
  
"You really want to do that?" Daniel asked.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"It'd mean that you would, well, die."  
  
Jon chuckled again. "No, it means that Jack and I will be the same person, I would be happy with that. I think Jack would to, if he'd let himself consider it."  
  
"Why wouldn't he want to consider it?" Daniel asked. "Seems to me that he'd want to get better."  
  
"Jack's idea of better is locking everyone up in the back of his head and flicking the off switch. It worked, for a long while, but those damned jackasses found the on-switch. And I ain't going to let him hurt himself because he doesn't want to deal with himself."  
  
"You lost me," Daniel said. "What 'jackasses'?"  
  
"The ones who messed him up," Jon answered.  
  
"You mean to tell me that you were, reactivated, by them torturing Jack?" Daniel asked incredulously. Jon shrugged.  
  
"More or less, that would be the case, ya."  
  
"So, now," Daniel waited for him to fill in the blank.  
  
"Now," he sighed. "Now I'm gonna do my damnedest to help our friend. Yes, he's my friend too, for all I can't stand him sometimes."  
  
Out in the hall Mackenzie listened to the interchange with interest, already taking mental notes on the patient. In spite of his bad reputation, all he wanted to do was help his patients, and get them back to their lives. He made a mental note about Jackson, in red ink. This alternate obviously trusted him, and they seemed to maybe even have a camaraderie. He was betting that the archaeologist would be an integral part of his patient's healing process.  
Two:  
  
True to his word, Mackinsey called Cheyenne Mountain, informing them that Jack was out of his catatonic state, but there were, 'complications.' Regardless, the next day, it was after visiting hours that night, the second floor of the building, to which Jack, or rather 'Jon' had been moved, was treated to a veritable parade of military personnel.  
  
Daniel was there first, but he'd never actually left. Major Carter and Teal'c arrived promptly at 0800, as soon as official visiting hours started. Doctor Janet Frasier arrived with her daughter, Cassie, around noon, bearing a medically acceptable picnic lunch. Jon got soup and soggy crackers, everyone else got fried chicken. Amazingly, the Colonel didn't so much as gripe. General Hammond arrived shortly after the lunch was finished, having been delayed by 'burocratic red-tape.'  
  
Everyone was startled and delighted by his apparently spontaneous recovery. If the Colonel was a little quieter than normal, well, that was understandable. He had just spent a month not saying anything at all. Only Daniel, and Mackinsey (who checked on them about every two hours), knew any different. No one saw any of the 'complications' which had sprung to mind upon the doctor's warning. That is, not until the evening, when they were packing up to leave.  
  
"Good-bye, Jack," Cassie said, giving him a hug and then bounding down the hall. Jon had hugged her back, a wry grin on his face. He sat back in his wheelchair and ran a hand through his hair.  
  
"Bye, Colonel," Janet said, then turned to follow her daughter, who had disappeared into the nurses station.  
  
"For cryin' out loud," Jon muttered, mostly to himself but loud enough for the others to hear, "my name is Jon, sheesh!" Everyone but Daniel froze in place. The archaeologist had been expecting this, and had in fact been wondering when Jon would drop his little bombshell. The man had seemed to enjoy his little ruse of normalcy.  
  
"Colonel?" Sam asked, her voice uncertain. Jon didn't reply, he just sat in his chair and looked up at her.  
  
"I do not believe that that is ColonelO'Nill, MajorCarter," Teal'c said.  
  
"Very good, big guy," Jon said. Sam looked up at Daniel, her eyes beseeching. 'Poor girl,' Jon thought to himself. 'She'd really hoped it was over.'  
  
"What's going on, Dr. Jackson?" the General asked, Daniel crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his chin down.  
  
"I really think that that's, Jon's, story to tell, General," Daniel replied, looking down at Jon.  
  
"Well?" General Hammond demanded, turning his authoritative glare on the invalid in the wheelchair.  
  
Jon smiled up at the bald Texan. "What can I say, boss?" he asked with a shrug. Hammond continued to glare. "Colonel O'Neill won't be joining us for a while, General," Jon added, wiping the smile off of his face.  
  
"Why not?" Janet asked. Sam had told her about what they'd found in France. About Jay O'Connor and all of his problems. Jon turned his eyes to her, and she fought a shudder. They were Jack's eyes. She would swear to it and, she knew, so would everyone else. With the exception, perhaps, of Daniel. If it hadn't been for this man blatantly stating that he was not Col. Jack O'Neill she would have believed that her friend had made, yet another, remarkable recovery.  
  
"Jack is a tad bit, preoccupied, with other matters at the moment," Jon replied, diplomatically. Currently his psychological twin had himself locked into the smallest mental box possible, purposefully ignoring everything that was going on, in and out of his mind.  
  
"I think Dr. Mackinsey would like to speak with you," Daniel said, pointing out the shrink, who had, until that moment, been quietly observing them from down the hall.  
  
Sam stared at her friend. "Aren't you coming with us?" she asked when he didn't move to follow.  
  
Daniel shook his head. "I'm pretty sure I already know what he has to say, he can just say it better," the archaeologist replied.  
  
"You and I are going to have a little chat," Sam informed him, then turned and walked down the hall, towards the good doctor.  
  
"I think that you might be in trouble, Danny-boy," Jon observed from his chair.  
  
"What would you know about it?" Daniel asked, a little peevishly. It wasn't like he'd purposefully kept his friend in the dark. There just hadn't been an appropriate time. Anyways, it was Jack's, Jon's, whoever's, news to share anyways.  
  
"More than you might think, Space-monkey," Jon replied. "So, tell me, the rock the Tok'ra kidnapped you to take a look at, it really records stuff out of people's heads?"  
  
"You heard that?" Daniel asked, surprised, as they headed for Jon's room.  
  
"Every word of it, fascinating stuff," Jon replied.  
  
"Humph, how do you feel about helping me translate some of it?" Daniel asked.  
  
"My brains are yours for the picking, Rock-boy."  
  
"Humph."  
  
* * *  
  
"Dr. Mackenzie, would you care to explain what in the sam hill is going on with my Colonel?" General Hammond demanded as they were shown into the doctors office.  
  
"Certainly, General," the doctor replied, seating himself behind the desk. He looked over the group. "But first I'm going to have to ask Major Carter and Teal'c to leave the room."  
  
"What?" Sam exclaimed. The doctor smiled.  
  
"Doctor/Patient privilege, Major. I'm sorry, but those are the rules."  
  
Sam and Teal'c left, Sam cursing under her breath and Teal'c as silent and stoic as ever. Once they were gone and the door was shut Mackenzie turned to Dr. Frasier and General Hammond. "I'm afraid that the news I have isn't good," he informed them.  
  
"Go on," the General encouraged.  
  
"By all appearances, Colonel O'Neill is suffering from multiple personality disorder. That would mean that the man you just visited wasn't the Colonel," Mackenzie started.  
  
"Well, then, who the hell was he?" the General demanded.  
  
Mackenzie sighed. "He calls himself 'Jonathan Bellwether,'" he started, then sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "As I'm sure you've noticed, if it weren't for him speaking up and saying so, he could easily pass for Colonel O'Neill."  
  
"How is that possible?" Janet asked. From what she knew of mpd, she'd done a little reading herself, the alternate personalities seemed to be fairly different from the original.  
  
"I don't know," Mackenzie replied. He looked and sounded tired, and he was.  
  
"Doctor, could the Colonel's condition have been caused by the stargaze, or anything he'd encountered while on a mission?" the General asked. Mackenzie shook his head sadly.  
  
"I'm afraid not, General. Multiple personality disorder begins in childhood. Usually as the result of some unbearable and repeated trauma," the doctor informed him. He didn't elaborate on what 'unbearable and repeated' meant, and he didn't have to.  
  
Mackenzie suggested some reading to both of them, then they went on their way. The doctor sat behind his desk long into the night, past the time he normally went home to dinner and bed. Colonel O'Neill's case was, to the realm of psychology, singular. A multiple personality completely aware of his status. Capable of passing for the original. And possessing all of the knowledge and mannerisms of the original personality. Throw into the mix that 'Jon' had talked to Daniel about re-integration, and told him that that was what he had planned, and it was almost too confusing to think about.  
  
* * *  
  
Transcript:  
  
Session One:  
  
Patient: Jonathan O'Neill, Colonel  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Patient recently awakened from catatonic state. Spontaneous recovery is thus far attributed to unannounced visit by ex-wife, Sara. Patient refers to himself as 'Jon' and insists that he is a separate being from Col. O'Neill. However, patient exhibits all signs of being the colonel. Including extensive knowledge of his team and background. If not for 'Jon's' insistence that he is a separate being the patient could be easily mistaken for a fully functional Colonel Jack O'Neill.  
  
Jon, welcome. How are you feeling today?  
  
Col. O'Neill: Like I've been in the same position for a month. You?  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: I'm fine, thank you for asking. You should be beginning your physical therapy today.  
  
Col. O'Neill: Yeah, two whole hours of sweating and slaving, just to move myself ten frickin' feet. Can hardly wait, doc. So, what's on our agenda?  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: I thought we'd start with something easy today, Jon. Can you tell me about your first clear memory?  
  
Tape indicates three and a half minutes silence.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Jon?  
  
Col. O'Neill: Being born.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: You remember being born?  
  
Col. O'Neill: Yeahsureyoubetcha.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Okay, moving forward, why don't you tell me your clearest memory from, say, when you were five or six?  
  
Tape indicates five minutes twenty-three seconds silence.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Jon?  
  
Col. O'Neill: I don't think I want to tell you about that.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Why not?  
  
Col. O'Neill: (Laughs) Lots of reasons.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Can you name me one?  
  
Col. O'Neill: I don't think Jack would appreciate it.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Why not?  
  
Col. O'Neill: It's not exactly something polite people talk about.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Something personal.  
  
Col. O'Neill: Not really.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: What, then.  
  
Tape indicates two minutes thirteen seconds silence.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Jon?  
  
Col. O'Neill: I'm still here, doc.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: You didn't answer my question.  
  
Col. O'Neill: No, I didn't.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Care to tell me why?  
  
Col. O'Neill: No, I don't.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Okay, why don't you tell me about the first clear memory that you can talk about.  
  
Col. O'Neill: Yeahsureyoubetcha.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Start whenever you're ready.  
  
Tape indicates two minutes forty-three seconds silence.  
  
Col. O'Neill: That would have to be third grade.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Any particular part of third grade.  
  
Col. O'Neill: (Chuckles) Yeah, you might say that. (PAUSE). This kid, Max Dalton.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: What about him?  
  
Col. O'Neill: I remember beating the shit out of him.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Do you remember why?  
  
Col. O'Neill: Yeah, he hit him.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Hit who?  
  
Col. O'Neill: (Sighs) Him, Jack.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Do you remember why Max hit Jack?  
  
Col. O'Neill: 'Cause he was a fuckin' bully.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: And you hit him because he hit Jack?  
  
Col. O'Neill: Yep.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Do you do that a lot?  
  
Col. O'Neill: Do what?  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Protect Jack? (Patient shrugs). You don't know? (Dr. notes patient appears uncomfortable). You don't want to talk about it?  
  
Col. O'Neill: No, not really.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Okay, Jon, why don't you tell me about your first happy memory?  
  
Col. O'Neill: That was my first happy memory, doc.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: I see.  
  
Col. O'Neill: I very much doubt that.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Our time today is almost up. Is there anything you'd like to talk to me about?  
  
Col. O'Neill: Yeah, there is.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Go ahead, Jon.  
  
Col. O'Neill: Could you make sure Jack's sister doesn't show up?  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Do you want to tell me why?  
  
Col. O'Neill: Not particularly, no.  
  
Dr. Mackenzie: Okay, well, our time today is up. Enjoy your physical therapy.  
  
Col. O'Neill: Somehow I doubt that that will be the case.  
  
* * *  
  
Later that night, Dr. Mackenzie went over his notes. In spite of 'Jon's' expressions of wanting to help himself, or Jack, he was fairly tight lipped with any information about himself. Several times during the session Jon had simply sat and stared into space, as if someone had flicked a switch and turned him off. Magic. Then, just as magically, the switch would be flipped again, and Jon would be back. Unwilling to talk. The man was as tightlipped as ever.  
  
The doctor sighed. It would appear that Jackson had been right in his, amateur, diagnosis. Multiple personality disorder. O'Neill was showing all of the classic symptoms. Daniel had said that he suspected Jon of being the 'dominant alternate,' and if what he'd told him was true, then he'd been around for quite a while. Third grade.  
  
The accepted cause of MPD was repeated childhood abuse. When the mental trauma became too much for the child to bear, they would literally create another personality to take the abuse. Daddy didn't hit me, he hit Toby. And so on. The key to Jack's condition lay in a childhood trauma which his alternate apparently didn't want to discuss. It made sense. Kind of. Jon's entire existence was started to protect a childhood Jack from something he couldn't deal with. Jack had never received proper treatment. He'd never even been properly diagnosed. He'd never dealt with what had happened to him. He'd simply buried it.  
  
Mackenzie only hoped that he could help the Colonel, and not cause further damage. "Patient, O'Neill, Jonathan, Colonel, to begin hypnotic regression therapy within the next two sessions."  
  
* * *  
  
That night, after physical therapy, and after Daniel had been forced to leave by the nursing staff, Jon lay in his bed and stared at the ceiling. The damned doctor had had to go and pick age five or six. The joy of a photographic memory, eh?  
  
Jack remained, in the back of his mind, shut up in his little box. Mental fingers shoved into mental ears. He didn't want to remember. Jon couldn't blame him. He didn't want to remember either. He'd taken the abuse that night, and Jack had been the one who'd walked into school the next day. Jack had been the one who smiled at the teacher and played on the playground. Jack had been the one who learned how to spell 'book.' Jon had shut himself up in that little box, licking his wounds and protecting Jack. Of course, his name hadn't been Jack, then. They'd both been Jonny.  
  
Jon finally fell asleep, much later than he should have. He'd tongued the pills the nurse had given him. When he did fall asleep, it was with tears glistening in his eyes. But he didn't know who they were for, Jack or him. Either way, it was the same.  
Three:  
  
"Dr. Jackson, thank you for coming," Mackenzie said, rising from his chair behind his desk. Daniel nodded.  
  
"Yeah, sure, whatever," the archaeologist replied.  
  
"Ahem, I wanted to talk to you about the colonel," Mackenzie started.  
  
Daniel smiled wryly. "Yeah, I guessed that much."  
  
"Please," the doctor indicated the chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat."  
  
"Thanks." Daniel sat. "So, what about him did you want to talk about."  
  
"Ahem. I want you to understand, Dr. Jackson, that what I'm telling you is not to leave this room. I am technically breaking the doctor/patient privilege by telling you this. And," he cut Daniel off before he could respond, "the only two reasons that I am telling you are that a) he's listed on your medical file as your only next of kin, and b) I understand that you two share a bond, which seems to have transferred itself to this alternate personality."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Do you understand. You are not to speak of this to the other members of your team. To Dr. Frasier, or to General Hammond."  
  
Daniel nodded. "Yeah, I understand."  
  
"I am planning on using hypnosis, to bring Jack out," Mackenzie started. Daniel remained silent and listened. "I want you to be present during the session."  
  
"Why?" Daniel asked. He didn't understand why the doctor wanted him there. Not that he didn't want to be there.  
  
"Like I said before. The two of you share a bond. I am hoping that that bond will give the Colonel something to hold onto. A central point to focus on," the doctor's voice trailed off.  
  
"You want me to be a touchstone?" Daniel asked. Mackenzie nodded.  
  
"Yes, in effect. Jon has indicated that he heard and saw everything which went on around him while in the catatonic state. He has also indicated that Jack was just as aware. You made a point of being here, every day with only one exception. I'm hoping that Jack will feel more comfortable with you around."  
  
Daniel nodded. "So, tell me what to do."  
  
* * *  
  
Jon sat in his room. In his wheelchair. Staring out the window, but not looking at the scenery. He was looking into his own shared psyche. 'Jack,' he thought, and received no reply, as he'd expected.  
  
'You know that he's going to try hypnosis, Jack,' still no reply.  
  
'You could make this a whole lot easier on yourself, you know,' he thought, angrily.  
  
'Yeah, you know.'  
  
* * *  
  
Daniel leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, watching the door. Jon rolled through it a moment later. He did a double-take when he saw Daniel, then he smiled and looked at Mackenzie.  
  
"Good idea, doc," he said. One of Mackenzie's eyebrows shot up.  
  
"You don't have a problem with Daniel being here?" he asked. Jon shook his head.  
  
"Nope. None at all," Jon answered.  
  
"Alright then. Before we begin, is there anything you'd like to tell either of us?" the doctor asked. Jon cocked his head to the side, looking thoughtful.  
  
"Yeah, Jack is really really good at not dealing with his feelings."  
  
"Okay," the doctor replied.  
  
"Just, don't be surprised if you end up reeling in someone else," Jon told him. Mackenzie was confused by this statement. Daniel shifted as he leaned against the wall. He had a pretty good idea what Jon meant, and wondered just how many people there were in his skull.  
  
"Alright," the doctor lowered the lights. "Now, Jon, I want you to watch this pen," he held up a silver pen, which glistened in the soft light. "I want you to watch only this pen," the doctor continued. "And I want you to listen only to the sound of my voice. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yeahsureyoubetcha."  
  
"Alright. Now, I'm going to count from one to ten. As I count, I want you to listen only to my voice. One, you're feeling relaxed. Two, you're starting to get tired. Three, getting even more tired. Four, you can barely keep your eyes open. Five," he continued.  
  
Daniel watched silently as his friend's eyes slowly closed. His face relaxed. His hands grew limp on the armrests of his wheelchair. "Ten, you are in a deep, deep, state of hypnosis."  
  
Mackenzie sat forward. "Can you hear me?" he asked.  
  
"Yup," Jon answered.  
  
"How do you feel?"  
  
"Like, I'm floating."  
  
"Good. Now, is Jack with you?" Mackenzie asked. Daniel pushed away from his spot on the wall and walked around behind the desk.  
  
Jon smiled wryly, his eyes closed. "He's always with me."  
  
"May I talk with him, please?" Mackenzie asked.  
  
"He can hear ya."  
  
"Could you ask him to come out?" Jon frowned, his eyebrows coming together. "Jack, Jack, if you can hear me, I want you to know that you're safe here. No one's going to hurt you here. You're safe, Jack. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yeah, he understands," Jon answered. He'd stopped frowning, but now he sounded annoyed.  
  
"What's wrong, Jon," Mackenzie asked.  
  
"Nothin'."  
  
"Will you ask Jack to come out?" Mackenzie asked.  
  
"I can ask," Jon said. They waited in silence for a moment, then Jon shook his head.  
  
"No dice. Jackie-boy don't wanna play."  
  
Mackenzie sat back, steepeling his fingers. Daniel tucked his chin down. Both were thinking. After a minute, Daniel bent over the doctor. "Should we ask him to force Jack out?" he asked quietly.  
  
"Is that possible?" the doctor whispered back. Daniel nodded, then frowned.  
  
"That's what he did on the plane," he whispered. He didn't say anything else, and he didn't have to. The last time Jack had been forced out, he'd dropped into a catatonic state.  
  
"Jon," he said. "Will you please bring Jack out."  
  
One of Jon's eyebrows shot up. "Wondering when you'd get around to asking me that."  
  
"Can you, Jon?" the doctor asked. Jon smiled.  
  
"Yeah, I can," he said, then fell silent. His head lolled forward onto his chest. Daniel and Mackenzie waited in silence.  
  
After three minutes, Jack's hands convulsed on the armrests of his wheelchair, and his head jerked back, hitting the headrest. Daniel started to move forward, but Mackenzie laid a restraining hand on his arm. Jack's eyes remained closed, even as his body started shaking, like he was too cold.  
  
"Jack, Jack, can you hear me?" Mackenzie asked. Jack didn't reply, he just shook his head, back and forth, back and forth. As if he were silently denying something. Suddenly, he froze, his body filled with a horrible tension. Mackenzie was afraid that he would hurt himself, but after thirty seconds, the tension disappeared, and Jack's body was left, limp as a rag doll.  
  
"Jack?" Mackenzie asked. He lifted his head at the sound.  
  
"No," he answered, shaking his head back and forth. His voice sounded different. Harsher then Jack's, or Jon's.  
  
"Who is this?" Mackenzie asked, slowly standing up. Jack's head tilted back to follow the movement, even though his eyes were still closed.  
  
"Michael," he replied. "Who the hell are you?"  
  
"I'm Dr. Mackenzie. Do you know where you are?"  
  
'Michael' laughed. "Of course I know where I am," he replied.  
  
"Where?" Mackenzie asked, moving around the desk. Michael's head followed him. Daniel remained motionless behind the desk. Something about Michael scared him, and he couldn't put his finger on it.  
  
"Russia."  
  
"What are you doing in Russia?" Mackenzie asked, now standing directly in front of Michael.  
  
"Why do you want to know?" Michael asked suspiciously. Daniel tensed up.  
  
"No reason, really," Mackenzie replied. Apparently he'd finally sensed the danger which had Daniel as tense as a bow string. "If you want to open your eyes, you may," he said, Michael's head was still tilted up towards him, even though his eyes were closed. His eyes popped open. Daniel managed not to shout. Barely. Michael's eyes were blue. A blue so light that it could have been white. His eyes were completely alien in Jack's face.  
  
Michael stared up at Mackenzie, then his strange eyes shifted past him to fall on Daniel. Daniel managed not to wince under his gaze. There was definitely something dangerous in those eyes. "Who's the kid?" Michael asked.  
  
"That's Daniel Jackson," Mackenzie replied. "You don't know him?"  
  
"Should I?" Michael asked.  
  
"No, I just thought the two of you might have met before. What's the last thing you remember?" Mackenzie asked. Michael turned his eyes back to the doctor.  
  
"Why do you want to know?" he asked, still suspicious.  
  
"You're in one of our hospitals," Daniel finally spoke. "You were injured. We're worried that you may not have completed your mission." The doctor silently congratulated the archaeologist on his quick thinking. He'd kept the statement general. 'Our' could have meant anything from military to drug-dealer.  
  
"I completed it," Michael shot back, suspicion forgotten. Mackenzie noticed that he seemed a bit agitated at the implication that he hadn't finished his job.  
  
"You achieved all of your objectives?" Daniel asked. Michael glared at him.  
  
"No," he finally answered.  
  
"How did you fail?" Daniel asked.  
  
"Why, are you my replacement?" he asked.  
  
"Yes," Daniel answered simply.  
  
Michael snorted. "You don't look the part."  
  
"That would be the point," Daniel said dryly. Mackenzie was momentarily forgotten.  
  
"You couldn't do it," Michael said smugly.  
  
"What makes you think that?" Daniel asked, pushing away from the wall and letting his hands drop to his sides.  
  
"You don't look like a killer," Michael replied.  
  
"You'd be surprised," Daniel said, softly.  
  
"Yeah, I bet I would."  
  
"Which target did you miss?" Daniel asked.  
  
"The girl," Michael replied.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I don't know. I blacked out. I'm guessing that that was when I was injured. What the hell happened to me anyway?"  
  
Mackenzie stepped in. "Michael?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'd like to speak to Jon, please." 'Michael' immediately fell limp, his eyes closing. After a minute he lifted his head, a smug smile on his face. "Jon?" Mackenzie asked uncertainly.  
  
"It's me, doc," Jon answered.  
  
"What happened?" Mackenzie questioned.  
  
"Jack didn't want to play, so he grabbed the nearest one and threw them out."  
  
"Nearest what?" Mackenzie asked.  
  
"Nearest person," Jon said, he sounded exasperated. "It's the same thing he did when he took off for France."  
  
"Instead of coming out himself he forced someone else to?"  
  
"That is what I just said," Jon replied.  
  
"Why didn't Jay come out?" Daniel asked, he was curious. Jon snorted.  
  
"Jack wouldn't use him."  
  
"Why not?" Mackenzie asked. Jon nodded his head, eyes still closed, in Daniel's direction.  
  
"Cause the space-monkey's here. Jack was afraid of what the little bugger would do."  
  
Mackenzie shot a look at Daniel, then turned back to Jon. "Okay, Jon, I want you to listen to my voice. I'm going to count backwards from ten to one, and as I do, I want you wake up. When I snap my fingers, you're going to open your eyes, totally alert and feeling fine. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yeahsureyoubetcha."  
  
Mackenzie counted back, then snapped his fingers. Jon yawned and stretched. "So," he said. "Did ya make me cluck like a chicken?" Daniel chuckled.  
  
"No," Mackenzie replied. Jon waited, folding his hands in his lap. "You don't have any recollection of what just happened?" the doctor asked. Jon shook his head.  
  
"Nope," he said. "But I can if you want me to." Mackenzie disregarded the remark.  
  
"Jack didn't come out," he said.  
  
"I did warn you." Mackenzie nodded in agreement. "Which one did he throw ya?"  
  
"Michael," Daniel replied.  
  
"Wha-" Jon started, then closed his eyes, leaned back in the wheelchair, and ran both hands through his hair. He swallowed. "I should have killed the little sonofabitch," he muttered.  
  
"Why?" Mackenzie asked.  
  
"You're sure it was Michael?"  
  
"That's what he told us his name was," Mackenzie replied.  
  
"His eyes were different than yours," Daniel put in. Jon chuckled.  
  
"Everything about him is different than me," he said.  
  
"Care to explain?" Mackenzie questioned. Jon sighed.  
  
"I'm your happy little sociopath. I don't like the rules of society. I don't follow the rules of society. But at least I have rules," he said in a very matter of fact voice. Daniel thought it sounded like an old argument. "Michael is a Grade A Psychopath. He has no rules. He does whatever the fuck he wants, for whatever reasons he does or does not have."  
  
"And that's why you're upset with Jack, because he chose Michael?" the doctor asked.  
  
"What makes you think I'm upset with Jack?" Jon asked, sounding confused.  
  
"You just said that you should have killed him."  
  
"You thought I meant Jack?"  
  
"Who did you mean?" Daniel asked.  
  
"Michael, of course! Although, now that you mention it, I am pretty pissed at Jack."  
  
"Why?" Mackenzie asked.  
  
"Let's just put it this way. The only reason Michael exists is to kill people who don't deserve it. If they deserve it, I have little or no problem with it. Innocents, on the other hand, are another story. Entirely."  
  
"What was Michael's mission?" Daniel asked, moving around the desk.  
  
"Humph!" Jon muttered. "Which one?"  
  
"The last one, in Russia," Daniel answered.  
  
"Oh, that," Jon fell silent for several minutes, apparently in contemplation. Daniel and Mackenzie shared a look. "Three targets. An arms dealer, his wife, and his daughter."  
  
Daniel felt like there was suddenly not enough air in the room. "Why didn't he finish the job?" he asked. Jon ducked his head, in a very Daniel- like maneuver.  
  
"We wouldn't let him," he finally replied.  
  
"'We'?" Mackenzie asked.  
  
"Jack and I."  
  
"You worked together?"  
  
"We always work together."  
  
"Why wouldn't you let Michael kill the girl?" Mackenzie questioned.  
  
"I've done some pretty damn sick things in my life, Doc. But killing a child is not one of them. I would never harm a kid!" he sounded rather vehement about that fact.  
  
"One of your rules?" the Doctor asked, making a note on the legal pad on his desk.  
  
"Damn right."  
  
"What happened to Michael?"  
  
"We grabbed him. Shoved him in a box. Pad-locked it a couple of times. And then threw the keys into the ocean," Jon answered matter-of-factly. "Jack wanted to kill him, but I convinced him not to."  
  
"Why did you not want to kill him?" Mackenzie asked. Jon looked up and met his eyes.  
  
"Because, in my line of work sometimes you need a good psycho, Doc," he answered. "Now I'm thinking I should have just killed him."  
  
"How would you, or Jack, kill Michael?" Mackenzie questioned, taking more notes.  
  
"Same way we made him."  
  
"And how did you do that?" the doctor prodded. Daniel was staring at Jon. Jon squirmed a bit in his chair. "Jon?"  
  
"Still here, doc."  
  
"Are you going to answer my question?" Mackenzie asked, putting his pen down.  
  
"That would be a negative," Jon replied, noticing that he was fidgeting, and stopping it.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Can't tell you that, either."  
  
"What can you tell me?" Mackenzie asked, one of his eyebrows arching up.  
  
"On this subject, nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero."  
  
"I see," Mackenzie made another note. "Well, our time is up, for today. Is there anything you want or need, that I can help you with?"  
  
"Uh, yeah, paper and pencils. Lots of 'me," Jon said, running a hand through his hair again.  
  
Mackenzie smiled, then glanced at Daniel. "I'm sure Dr. Jackson can help you with that," he said.  
  
Daniel nodded in reply.  
  
* * *  
  
General Hammond sat behind his desk, staring down at the mission brief which had, in his opinion, started this entire chain of unfortunate events. P9A-221. Just a bunch of numbers and letters on a piece of paper to him. But so much more to Col. O'Neill. That damned planet, or rather the people on it, had started this whole mess. They'd tortured his 2IC, which had dredged up god only knew what from the man's subconscious. In this case, god only knows seemed to be 'alternate personalities.'  
  
He sighed. The military had known about Jonathan O'Neill's 'condition' since before they'd recruited him, out of prison. His 'condition' was the entire reason they'd sought him out in the first place. They'd needed someone capable of spending months, or years, in deep cover. With no contact. Capable of maintaining in their mind the mission objective, and fulfilling it. Jack must have seemed like the answer to their prayers. He'd certainly been the answer to Hammond's prayers, on more than one occasion.  
  
The General had learned of his 2IC's 'condition' about six months after the stargate had re-activated and the president had commissioned the SGC. He hadn't done anything about it. He hadn't spoken to Mackenzie, or Frasier, or even Jack himself. He'd remained silent. He wasn't even supposed to know about it. Jack had never been diagnosed. There was absolutely no paperwork what-so-ever referring, even peripherally, to any sort of problem. That was the way the military did things. And he was no better for keeping the secret, and not forcing Jack to undergo treatment.  
  
The government liked to have a nice psychopath on the field, shooting at their enemies. But the thought of bringing one home just doesn't sit well with them. It never had. The media would have a field day with the information Hammond had on Jack O'Neill.  
  
Recruited out of prison, where he had been serving a five year sentence for attempted manslaughter. He'd damn near succeeded. Hammond had tried to track down the man he'd almost killed, but his paper trail ended about ten years ago. He'd simply ceased to exist. The General refused to allow himself to speculate on what might have happened to him.  
  
Before being sent to prison Jack had been a homeless runaway. Living on the streets and doing god-knew-what to survive. Before that, according to the man himself, he'd 'Lived with my family.' In all the transcripts of every psych evaluation ever given to him, Jack had never spoken of his family. When asked about birthdays, he'd shake his head and shut up. When asked about chores, he'd shake his head and shut up. Any other officer would have been called on it, but Jack got away with it because the Air force and his government needed him.  
  
Before that there were medical reports upon medical reports. Jack had spent most of his life, it seemed, in one hospital or another. He'd 'fallen down the stairs,' and 'gotten into neighborhood fights,' quite regularly. There were pictures, color at that. Hammond had had to force himself to sit down and look through them all. Jack looked like he'd been through Hell three times over, before he'd even grown up.  
  
The last bit of information. The most disturbing bit of written proof of the man's life. Were two pieces of much photocopied papers. A birth certificate, and a police report. Hammond could only imagine what it must have been like, for the boy Jack had been, to be the product of a violent rape. He could only imagine, and that was enough to give him nightmares.  
  
Of course, all of this information was classified, sealed, buried under mountains of red tape. Just like his mission reports had been. Hammond had called in several favors, when Jack O'Neill was assigned to his command. Six months later they had panned out. Now, he had to decide what to do with this information. The prudent thing would be burn it, and pretend he'd never seen it. The responsible thing would be to give it to Mackenzie, to help Jack.  
  
He picked up the phone and buzzed the secretary. "Get me Dr. Jackson," he said.  
  
"Right away, Sir."  
Four:  
  
Daniel sat on the couch in the living room of his apartment and stared at the two piles of folders in front of him. The first were the mission reports Hammond had given them over a month ago when they'd set out to track down their errant commander. The second the General had handed to him just two hours ago. He'd said nothing, but the look in his eyes had said enough. Daniel wasn't going to like what he would find in those files. The archaeologist had already read and re-read the mission files. He practically knew them by heart, much as he wished he didn't. He'd been able to track down Michael's last mission all to easily.  
  
He felt like his heart was breaking. He'd always been the most emotional member of SG-1. That was understandable, he was the only real civilian. Even so, he was surprised at the depth of the pain he felt for his friend. He was even more surprised by the ferocity of the fear he felt. He didn't want to open those files. But he knew that he had to, for Jack.  
  
He picked up the first file, stared down at it for a moment, then flipped it open. The first thing he saw were several color photos of a severely hurt young man. The person in the photos was so messed up that Daniel's mind went on the defensive and would not allow him to connect the image with a human being. Once he did finally realize that it was a person he began to, slowly, note that he looked like a younger, but no more innocent, version of Jack. Then again, maybe not. The expression in his eyes reminded Daniel a lot more of Jon than it did of Jack.  
  
There were close-ups of his face, arms, chest, stomach, back, and legs. All were covered with dark bruises and bloody abrasions. Several already carried pre-existing scars, which looked to have been extremely painful on their own. Daniel didn't realize he'd been crying until a tear hit the shiny surface of the hospital photo he'd been holding. This one was of his face. Both eyes were blackened, his lip was swelled and split, there was a nasty looking gash above his right eye which looked like it had needed stitches. Out of that ruin Jon's dark eyes stared out, as if daring the photographer to take his picture. Almost accusing.  
  
Daniel moved on to the paperwork. It was the usual mix. Name, age, parents. Who signed him into the emergency ward, what story was told to the admitting nurse. The litany of injuries. He was surprised to find that during this particular episode Jack had only been fourteen. The eyes in the photographs looked older, somehow. His mother had brought him to the ER. She told the nurse that Jack had gotten into a fight with some boys in the neighborhood. The doctor who had examined him had made a point of stating, several times, that 'Jonathan O'Neill shows know offensive wounds. His knuckles are one of the few things on him not damaged.' The doctor had gone on to recommend a social worker look into the case.  
  
The next folder was a similar story. This time young Jonathan had 'fallen down the basement stairs' while the family was out of the house. He'd broken his right leg and sprained his left ankle. His family had been 'out of town' for the long weekend. He'd been in the basement for three days. When they got back, naturally, they'd found him and rushed him to the emergency room. This time he was fifteen. Daniel noticed that the date was exactly a year and three days after the last. The doctor again recommended a social worker do something.  
  
The next folder showed a much younger Jonathan O'Neill, this time he was six. Both parents had admitted him, that time the story had been that he'd been attacked by a neighborhood dog. His wounds were consistent with a dog attack. Daniel wondered briefly how his friend could be such a dog person with this in his past, then he took a second look at the photo. They were Jon's eyes staring back at him. Daniel went through all of the folders. Every picture of his face held Jon's eyes. Back to the earliest.  
  
Jonathan had been two. He had been brought to the hospital by EMS personnel. Apparently the two-year-old had gotten away from his parents. They'd 'found' him in a stream about a block from their house, 'just in time.' The medical report listed the same date as most of the others. The doctor made a note stating that 'the water removed from the boy's lungs appeared to be very pure for a stream in a residential area.' Even at that early age Jonathan had been with Jack. Daniel had the sneaking suspicion that he may have been telling the actual truth when he'd told Dr. Mackenzie that he remembered being born. The doctor had shared the transcript with him when he'd asked him to help with the hypnosis.  
  
From his own observations Daniel was getting the feeling that Jon had a photographic memory, or something so close that it made no difference. Sighing, he sifted through the piles of paper laid out before him. He finally came up with the birth certificate. He did a double take. The date was the same as the one which had kept cropping up in the medical reports. He'd been born two weeks premature, according to the other papers, due to emotional distress on the part of his mother. The birth certificate listed Laura O'Neill as the mother and a man named Eric Bellwether as the father.  
  
With a frown, Daniel dug through the papers some more, until he came up with a medical report that didn't have Jonathan's name on it. It was his mother's, Laura O'Neill. Two months after the birth of her first born, Lucy O'Neill, Eric Bellwether broke into the O'Neill household and raped Laura. There was a photo of Bellwether, along with a note that he had served a fifteen year sentence and been released. The note mentioned that the researcher had been unable to find any other information on the man. He hadn't even met with his parole officer. He'd simply disappeared. Daniel shifted uncomfortably on his couch. Jon taking the last name of his mother's rapist was, to say the least, disturbing.  
  
There was also a photo of Laura O'Neill. She was a pale, frail looking woman, made all the paler and frail looking by the large purple-red bruise covering almost a third of her face. Looking at the two images, Daniel could definitely see the resemblances. He had his father's features. But he had his mother's eyes. Or rather, Jon had his mother's eyes. Daniel was chilled to the core when he noticed that the eyes staring out of Laura O'Neill's face were exactly those staring out of Jonathan's. He pulled out several other photos for a comparison. They proved the theory.  
  
Daniel was struck with a disturbing thought. Perhaps his birth was not the first thing Jonathan remembered. Maybe, somehow, he remembered even farther back.  
  
* * *  
  
Tell me a story/ baby tell me your lies/ spin me a web/ of your alibis// speak to me softly/ whisper so sweet/ tell me a story/ yeah, tell me baby// 'cause I know you're hurtin'/ been here before/ 'cause I know you're hurtin'/ babe I know what's in store//  
  
Daniel paused in the doorway to Jonathan's room. The older man was laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling blankly, listening to the radio as it pounded out its disturbing rhythm. He wasn't moving at all, and Daniel held his own breath until he was sure that he could see the other man's chest rising and falling regularly.  
  
The world's a dark place/ evil plays for keeps/ stay in the shadows love/ 'cause that's your beat// speak to me softly/ whisper so sweet/ tell me a story/ yeah, tell me baby// sing to the darkness/ cold to the core/ windows to the soul/ your eyes scream the score//  
  
With something like mild shock, Daniel realized that he was staring not at Jonathan, but at Jack. He'd spent all of last night staring into Jonathan Bellwether's eyes. Jack's eyes were equally dark and disturbing, but they held something which Jonathan's didn't. They held the faintest edge of humanity.  
  
'cause I know you're hurtin'/ been here before/ 'cause I know you're hurtin'/ babe I know what's in store// and there ain't no shame/ in what's been done before/ looking in the mirror/ you can see to your core// Tell me a story/ baby tell me your lies/ spin me a web boy/ of your alibis///  
  
Daniel watched silently, and regretfully, as Jack disappeared at the song's end. Jon sat up and blinked. "Hey, Daniel," he said, sounding a little less buoyant than his usual self.  
  
"Jon," Daniel replied with a nod.  
  
"What's up?" he asked. Daniel shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning in the doorway.  
  
"Did Jack have anything to say?" the archaeologist asked, trying to sound innocent.  
  
Jon shrugged. "Not much," he said. "He wanted to know who'd won the last hockey game."  
  
"The Raiders," Daniel answered before he could think. He'd been videotaping all of the games ever since they'd gotten back to the states.  
  
"Thanks," Jon said. He was only mildly surprised that the archaeologist knew the answer, Daniel had informed Jack that he was taping the games for him. "So, what brings ya?" he asked.  
  
Daniel picked up the bag he'd set down in the hall, holding it up. "Writing supplies," he answered. Jon's eyes lit up and Daniel good practically hear an 'Oh goody.' Of course, Jon had more decorum than to say it out loud.  
  
"Thanks," he said again as Daniel handed him the bag. There were several notebooks, two boxes of pencils, a sharpener, and a clipboard.  
  
"So," Daniel said, sitting at the foot of the bed and facing his friend. "You planning on writing your life story?"  
  
One of Jon's eyebrows shot up and he stared at Daniel, then he shook his head. "Nah," he answered. "Be a pretty boring book."  
  
"Somehow I doubt that," Daniel said. Jon smirked.  
  
"I'd only be able to write about the unclassified bits, Danny-boy," he sighed, leaning back against the wall. "That doesn't leave a whole lot."  
  
"What about your childhood?"  
  
"Classified," Jon answered, his voice empty, his eyes hooded.  
  
"Why?" Daniel asked incredulously. Yeah, some horrible things had happened to Jack, Jon, agh, when he was a child, but that was no reason to classify it. Jon smiled wryly, then shrugged.  
  
"Who knows or cares why the government does what it does?" he asked. "Now, how much did the Raiders win by, and who the hell were they playing?"  
  
* * *  
  
Major Samantha Carter, USAF, was annoyed, and that was putting it pleasantly. The device she was working on, a featureless red ball, was yielding absolutely no information. She couldn't tell what it was made out of. She couldn't tell how old it was. She couldn't tell what it was supposed to do, or even if it was still doing it! She couldn't even figure out if it was hollow or solid. It was the not so proverbial Georgian Knot, the only problem was that she couldn't cut through it, not even with a Tok'ra laser cutter, she'd already tried.  
  
Add to that the stress caused by what was happening to her CO, and, well, Major Samantha Carter, USAF, was about as close to a breakdown as she'd ever been. "Goddammit!" she muttered under her breath, pushing away from the lab bench, and startling her assistant. "Sorry," she said, blushing a little. Then she turned and walked out of the room. She needed to do something, and that obviously wouldn't be happening in the lab, playing with her 'scientific doohickeys' as the Colonel would call them.  
  
Sam stopped in her tracks. The colonel, who was in a mental hospital. The colonel, who was trapped within his own mind and body. The colonel who she hadn't gone to visit since the picnic, when it'd been revealed that the Colonel had not recovered, and that there was someone else running around in his body.  
  
Without realizing where she was going, Sam's feet took her to Col. O'Neill's office. She tried the door, and was surprised to find it unlocked. The place was spotless, the cleaning crew had been through. Even the papers, stacked on his desk, were perfectly arranged. Sam felt the back of her throat close up with tears that she refused to allow release. She would not cry. Crying wouldn't help Colonel O'Neill, and it sure as hell wouldn't help her. "Dammit, Sir," she muttered, staring at his desk.  
  
The file on top was for P9A-221, the mission that had started all of this, what two, three months ago? It looked as if the colonel had fished it out, upon his return from the woods, maybe he'd had to finish it and get it to Hammond. Sam set her jaw, this, at least, as his second in command, she could do. She plopped into his seat and flipped open the folder, scanning it quickly. She didn't get past the first page.  
  
"Oh my god," she gasped.  
  
* * *  
  
"- ten, Jon can you hear me?" Mackenzie asked as both he and Dr. Jackson stared at the limp man sitting in the wheel chair.  
  
"Yup," Jon answered, his head falling to the side.  
  
"Is Jack there?" Mackenzie asked.  
  
"Stupid question, next?" Jon asked, voice a little annoyed.  
  
"What do you mean, 'stupid question' ?" the shrink asked, leaning forward.  
  
"I mean that Jack's always here," Jon replied. "We went over this already, last time."  
  
"You remember our last session?"  
  
"Yeahsureyoubetcha."  
  
"All right, could you ask Jack to come out, please?" Mackenzie asked, Daniel stayed where he was, leaning against the wall behind the man's desk. Jon went completely limp for several minutes, then lifted his head, eyes still closed.  
  
"No dice, Jackie-boy don't want to play."  
  
Mackenzie looked over his shoulder, at Daniel. Both were thinking the same thing. Could they risk trying to force Jack out again? Judging from Jon's previous reaction it might not be safe, for them. Not to mention the distrust it would build up in the colonel, if they kept asking his defense mechanism to pull him out kicking and screaming.  
  
"Okay," Mackenzie said. "Why don't you tell us about your earliest memory?"  
  
Jon froze, not moving, not breathing. Mackenzie had stood, and Daniel taken several steps towards him, when he took a gasping breath and whispered, so softly that neither man was sure they'd heard it, "No, don't, please don't."  
  
Daniel let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, staying where he was, halfway between his friend and the wall. As they watched Jon curled up into himself, both literally and figuratively, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them, rocking slightly, face hidden. It took Daniel several minutes to realize that the man was crying. He turned to Mackenzie, asking with his eyes. The psychiatrist nodded, and Daniel moved forward.  
  
"Jon?" he asked quietly, standing in front of the man. Jon froze, again. Daniel reached out a hand, laying it on his friend's shoulder. Jon reacted faster than should have been possible, throwing himself backwards, knocking the wheelchair over and landing on the floor. He quickly skittered back against the wall, once he had his back to something solid he drew his knees up again.  
  
Daniel turned back to Mackenzie, obviously distraught, not knowing what to do. Mackenzie motioned for him to go to him. 'Be careful,' he mouthed, but remained silent.  
  
Daniel walked across the room, until he stood in front of his friend, who was still rocking himself, shaking. Daniel crouched down in front of him, and only then did he hear it, an almost silent whispering, like some sort of mantra. "Just kill us just kill us just kill us just kill us just kill us just kill us." Over and over and over again. Daniel felt something break, deep down in his heart. At that moment he would have done anything, anything, if only to get his friend to quiet, to stop repeating those words in that horrible whisper.  
  
"Jon?" Daniel asked, quietly. The man in front of him froze, as before, only this time he had his back, quite literally, to the wall. There was nowhere left for him to run. "Jon, can you hear me?" Daniel reached out, resting his hand lightly on the other man's shoulder. He could feel the tension, like a coiled spring, vibrating up through his hand, just from that one light touch. "Jon, you're safe now," Daniel said, keeping his voice low, and soothing. The same tone of voice he'd used with an injured dog he'd found as a child. Putting only his sincere wish to help into his words. That dog had growled and snapped at him, then run away, he hoped he'd have better luck now.  
  
"My name's Johnny," the huddled man whispered, remaining absolutely still beneath Daniel's hand.  
  
"It's okay, Johnny, you're safe now, no one's going to hurt you," Daniel adapted his approach. Johnny remained still beneath his hand. Behind him he could hear Mackenzie shifting, but he didn't take his eyes off of his friend.  
  
"Promise?" Johnny asked, that one word spoken in the too quiet voice of a child.  
  
"I promise," Daniel answered, then, moving on some instinct he couldn't name, he gathered the other man into a hug, gently rocking him, and Johnny let him. "I promise," Daniel whispered again, against the other man's ear.  
  
Johnny clung to him, and cried, softly, whispering unintelligibly, over and over. After several minutes Daniel was finally able to make sense of the words. "It's not my fault, it's not my fault."  
  
'No,' he thought. 'It wasn't your fault.'  
Five:  
  
"What?!" Daniel asked the Major in surprise, not quite believing what he was hearing. He, Sam, and Teal'c, were sitting in his apartment, around the coffee table, staring down at the file Sam had, borrowed, from the Colonel's desk.  
  
"You are certain, MajorCarter?" Teal'c asked, himself finding it hard to swallow what the Major had told them.  
  
"I triple checked the calculations and schematics myself, guys," Carter replied, her voice annoyed. Though she didn't know why she was so annoyed, she'd been just as shocked as they when she'd discovered the file. Hence the triple checking.  
  
Daniel pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and trying to think. "So you're telling us that Jack, or one of his alternates, calculated how many previously unknown addresses?"  
  
"Two hundred and seventy two, DanielJackson," Teal'c supplied.  
  
"Two hundred and seventy two unknown addresses, then hid them in the mission file for P9A-221?" Daniel asked incredulously. The Major nodded, solemnly. "Never mind how he did it, why would he do it?" the archaeologist asked. "And since he obviously did, do it, why would he hide it, and why, of all the places, in that mission file?"  
  
"I don't know, Daniel," Sam replied, tiredly. "I don't know the answers to any of it. And that's not all."  
  
"You mean there's more?" Daniel asked, bouncing to his feet and starting to pace nervously. Sam nodded.  
  
"What else did ColonelO'neill write, MajorCarter?" Teal'c asked for the both of them.  
  
Sam sighed. "He figured out the schematics for a portable dialing device," she said.  
  
"What?" Daniel asked, turning back to both of them. "How on earth could he even begin to figure that out?"  
  
"I don't know!" Sam shouted, bouncing to her feet. "Maybe he didn't, and since you're the one who spends every day with him I think it should be you answering the questions!"  
  
Sam's outburst brought Daniel up short, and he froze where he was. Realization suddenly dawning in his eyes. "The Asgard," he muttered, then ran his hand through his hair distractedly. "Oh, my, god," he whispered.  
  
"The Asgard removed their knowledge from ColonelO'Neill's mind," Teal'c reminded him.  
  
"But Jon's got a photographic memory," Daniel whispered, almost to himself, then he collapsed back onto the couch.  
  
"Wait a minute," Sam asked, still standing. "You're telling me that the Colonel remembers everything that that device downloaded into his brain, and lied to his superiors?" she shook her head. "I don't believe it."  
  
"Of course he didn't," Daniel said, looking up at her. "The Asgard removed the knowledge from Jack's mind, but not from his alternate's, not from Jon's mind. We already know that Jon can do things that Jack can't."  
  
"That is correct," Teal'c supported. Sam nodded, after a moment, conceding the fact that her CO did in fact appear to be more than one person.  
  
"But, if Jon's got all the knowledge of the Ancients, and has had it all along," Daniel asked, standing up again.  
  
"What the hell is he planning on doing with it?" Sam asked, finishing his thought for him. Daniel could think of one thing, like transcribing an entire briefing in an alien script. "But the human mind's not built to hold that much information," Sam pointed out. "It was killing the colonel, that's why he went to the Asgard to get it removed in the first place."  
  
"What if this alternate personality did not retain all of the knowledge, but only that which he deemed relevant?" Teal'c asked from his, still seated, position. Daniel cocked his head to the side, mulling that thought over. It made sense, and if anyone would be able to pull it off, Jon would. The human mind was capable of storing an awful lot of information, he wouldn't put it past the man to keep a few bits and pieces he deemed interesting, while letting the Asgard sweep out the rest, thus saving both his and Jack's life.  
  
"All this brings us back to the same exact question," Sam said, crossing her arms in a very Daniel-like gesture. "What the hell is he planning on doing with it?"  
  
* * *  
  
In his room at the hospital Jon went over his schematics and calculations, carefully. Screwing up would not be good, not that he honestly thought he'd screw up, but better safe than sorry. He'd already pieced together the remote from various bits and pieces he'd collected since Jack's incarceration in the funny farm.  
  
The catatonic ward was not built with security in mind, it had not been difficult to slip out for a few hours every night and work on Plan B. He smirked, his physical therapist had commented, several times, that he was shocked that he'd retained so much muscle, what with not moving for over a month.  
  
Once they'd moved him it'd been decidedly more difficult, but not impossible. Cooperation breeds trust. Trust breeds lax security guards. Even so, he'd managed to finish gathering everything he needed, and now he was trying to write the letter. The one he'd leave for Daniel, and the others of course, but mostly for Daniel.  
  
So, campers, here we are.  
  
Remember when I told you about Plan B? Well, it's not going so good, Jack is not wanting to cooperate, or deal. So I'm going to take him someplace where he'll have no choice but to cooperate and deal. I'm sure you'll figure it out.  
  
If all goes according to plan, we should be back, a new man. Literally. If all doesn't go according to plan, well, thanks. For everything.  
  
Tell the General that, technically, we are not going AWOL. Because, technically, I never joined the air force.  
  
Keep the home fires burning, campers, I have every intention of coming back, and believe it or not, so does your colonel. We like killing snake heads too much to give it up that easily. So, we'll be seeing you.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
J  
  
* * *  
  
At 0300 an unidentified man gained access to the Cheyenne Mountain Military Complex through as of yet undetermined means. He made his way to the lower levels, avoiding security staff and cameras. He entered the gate control room, knocked the technicians on duty unconscious, and initiated a twelve hour lock-down of the facility, using Colonel O'Neill's security codes and clearance. Once the lock down was in progress he made his way to the embarkation room, where he activated the stargate through unknown means, and escaped via the stargate to an unknown destination.  
  
When the blast doors were finally opened, twelve hours later, all that was found was a letter in an envelope, addressed to Dr. Daniel Jackson.  
  
Colonel O'Neill disappeared from the military hospital between the hours of 0100 and 0130. His whereabouts and situation are currently unknown.  
  
* * *  
  
On another planet, light years away, a black clad man wearing a pair of mirrored sun glasses, and toting a Berretta and a strange laptop looking device, walked into a village for the second time in his life.  
  
The villager's did not react with fear, or surprise. Rather they acted as if they'd been expecting him. When the village elder approached, the man smiled, wryly.  
  
"Well, well, my dear Sa-ren, looks like you've got us back after all," the man said in the village's native tongue. The sa-ren, an elderly, wizened, old man, nodded sagely.  
  
"This way to your destiny," the old man spoke.  
The end.  
  
Author's note: I had originally intended for this to be the closure piece, however, the longer I took to write it, the more I realized that my muses had something other than the original ending in mind, so, here we are. I'm sorry it took so long to get this to y'all, and I'll work at getting the next, presumably final, installment out to you. Just have patience with me. Feedback is, as always, welcome. 


End file.
